I Used to be a Turk
by StylusDez
Summary: Ever wonder how Vincent became a Turk? A long and fateful past of violence, love, and war that transformed a youth into the Vincent we know today. Sort of a tangent off my other story Off Duty. Rated M for language and violence, please Read and Review!
1. I Used to be a Turk

"I used to be a Turk"

Ch.1 I Used to be a Turk- A little more detail in Vincent's past that stems from the story "Off Duty"

"I used to be a Turk," said Vincent simply, breaking the silence.

Vincent remembered how his breath was taken away when he saw the familiar uniform he came to know so well. It became like a second skin, something he saw in the mirror for more then ten years, everyday. It was a black suit, white shirt with a red tie. The tie clip was set halfway down the tie, gold with the Japanese symbol for elite. The last time he saw one was when he burned his. But now he was staring at two of them, being worn by two men sitting across from him at a bar at the Turtle Inn.

He had joined the group recently, only sticking around and putting up with their annoyances so he could meet Hojo. But this was a new incentive for him to stick around. And one was needed because he was growing increasingly tired of Cloud's search for this girl who stole all their materia. How careless of him. He also decided to sit down because he saw how much fun Cid was having, and he had to admit the old drunk was growing on him.

Vincent couldn't remember what made him blurt that out after asking if they were Turks. Probably his pride, mixed with the boredom he was feeling that night looking for that girl all night. Maybe he just wanted to find out if the Turks were the same as it was when he was in, either way he said it and it didn't feel awkward to him at all, unlike most of his conversations he had lately. In fact, a lot of things have been awkward since after that job on the farm hasn't it…but before he could finish that thought it was pierced by Cid yelling at Cloud.

"Yeah that's right Cloud! Barret got my back, right dawg! That's right only big dogs allowed in dis house anywaz biatch," said Cid as he tried to remember, through his drunken haze, the ghetto trash talking crash courses Barret taught him when they were bored.

"Man shut up white boy, you know you are too drunk to talk any mess," said Barret.

"Whatever G, I been knowin I be da man, so shut yo grill bizatch!"

"What you say!" said Barret.

"Nothing man, what you talking about Barret. I'm just drunk remember, hey Cloud where you going?"

"No shit, you used to be a Turk, really! When, I don't remember seeing you during training?" asked Reno ignoring Cid and the others and focused, with Rude, on what Vincent just said.

"I'm fucking leaving your ass, I'm gonna look for Yuffie," said Cloud.

"I was one thirty years ago, when it was first formed," said Vincent.

"Fine go, I don't care, hey Barret wanna drink, it's on Cloud," said Cid.

"Thirty years ago, what are you talking about?" asked Reno intrigued.

"Yes thirty years ago, it's a long story…"

"Yeah a looooooooong story; like almost too fucking long. Like really fucking looong, like as long as my peni…" said Cid.

"Cid!" exclaimed Tifa.

"Oh, I mean to say as long as… man forget it, hey Barret what you want?"

Reno and Rude were memorized by what they stumbled on. A real life Turk, think about the war stories! They have never met anyone else that was in the Turks, except the people that trained them. They weren't all about telling stories though, and they were all gone now.

Vincent stared at the Scotch and Soda that was reflecting the light from the overhead lamp that was dangling above them. Thirty years…has it been that long. It was only recently that he joined the land of the conscious again. It would seem that fate brought him and Cloud and company together. I haven't thought about the past since that moment, it seems like a lifetime ago. It was even before Cid joined the group. In reality it was only a couple of months ago, but so much had happened since then, and there was still that ache in his heart that drew the days to an incessant end. Lucrecia…

"So tell us, uhh Vincent right? Tell us what happened?" asked the man he just met, but probably shared more in common with then anyone in the room. Reno was astounded to have met a real life Turk, and the booze that was already taking another lap in his system made him not even think that he was a Turk thirty years ago seem odd. He just wanted to know about his story. He blocked out Cid's raving conversation with Barret as he turned, with his partner Rude, toward the mysterious man.

Vincent looked down as he gripped his drink with his good arm, always seeing the metallic glare of the cold alloy staring at him from his other arm. Vincent stared into the glass deeply. He forgot all about Yuffie and the missing materia, which didn't concern him that much to begin with, and Cid and Barret's laughing. All he could remember was that shine of the gun…it had the same shine as my metal arm…

Vincent took a long breath. He looked up from his glass and stared at the pair of eyes staring back at him. He took the glass to his lips and let the liquid burn down his throat. He cleared his throat and slowly said, "I was seventeen when I joined. I had just moved from the farm I grew up and moved into the outskirts of Old Midgar, which I am told is where Midgar is now. Back then it was just a cluster of cities. Shinra had just been started by Mr. Shinra. I needed a job so I…" Vincent continued and Reno and Rude hung on every word he said without interrupting him

A vibrant Vincent came storming out of bed from his single room in the orphanage. It was a little past 9 AM, and breakfast would be ready in half an hour, or when he finished cooking it. Damn I overslept again! He quickly got dressed in some overalls and work boots. He looked into the mirror as he got dressed. A young man, with short spiked hair, a clean shaven face, and handsome features stared back at him. He quickly got ready and headed for the kitchen. He had been there most of his life, never really knowing what was outside the land that the orphanage had owned, but today…he was to be sent out into the world.

"I'm sorry Vincent, we just can't afford to keep you here, you are a great worker, but you'll do more good going out into the world then staying here. The children will be fine without you, just go out there and meet your destiny," the old man had said to him just yesterday night when he was finished with his chores. He felt the same way; he had an insatiable appetite that needed to be fed, and an ambition that just couldn't be fulfilled here. He loved it here, but at the same time he knew he couldn't stay here.

He opened the cabinet and took out the eggs. At least I'll cook one last meal before I go. He broke the news to the children and it would seem their hearts too. He was the oldest orphan there, and the older brother to most of them. He had to go though, he needed to go. Breakfast was finished and he called out, "Breakfast, come get it!" A legion of charging kids came rushing down.

"Hey what's for breakfast!"

"Oww man, eggs again?"

"You really going Vinny?"

"Man do I gotta get up?"

"Alright guys, be quiet and sit down, I want a good peaceful meal before I leave," said Vincent in his brotherly authoritative voice.

"Okay Vinny," they said in unison. In total there were 22 children of varying ages. The next oldest was fifteen. Most the older boys were sent out into the field early in the morning to work, while the children had a late breakfast. There were seven boys between the ages of six to twelve. The older children ate later on, and the old man usually cooked, but since it was Vincent's last day he was cooking.

"What are we gonna do without you?" asked the youngest of the bunch. He was six years old and Vincent's favorite. His name was Donny, a war orphan just like Vincent. Vincent was like a father to Donny, and it was him that almost made him stay.

"You are going to have to wake up by yourself," said Vincent in a teasing fashion.

"But Vinny…"

"Listen Donny, everyone has to leave sometime, my time is now, and we talked about this yesterday."

"But…"

"But nothing Donny, it's not like I'm going to be far away, I'll visit as much as I can."

"Alright…"

"Now eat up, while it is still hot." The meal ended nicely enough with a food fight and tears from Donny and the rest when Vincent headed out the front door. Vincent was determined to not turn back though, he had to leave. The old man had given him a Chocobo, 500 Gil, and his best wishes. He headed west toward the new city they were building and where the company Shinra was being formed.


	2. Old Midgar

Ch. 2 Old Midgar

Honk! Honk! "What the fuck are you doing ye asshole!"

"I'm fuckin walkin ere that's what!"

"Well fucking walk right ye retard!"

"Blow me!"

Vincent sat up suddenly awake by the noise outside. A Shogun Retro Model T Car almost ran over a pedestrian, and a traffic jam had ensued. The noise was unbearable as people were yelling and honking their horns. 3:20 AM. Oh my God! Has this whole city lost their damn mind! Vincent was in a dingy small one room tenement in Old Midgar in the part of the city they called the slum. It used to be an old factory town that built chocobo carriages, until it was bought out by the Shogun Corporation and they started building new automotive factories. These factories dragged the area down into poverty and produced heavily pollution in the air. Vincent rubbed his eyes irritably. He had been gone for a week and settled here, the only place he could afford to live. He pulled out the picture that he and Donny took before he left and involuntarily smiled.

God Damnit! I haven't got a decent night sleep since I left. But he had to admit, being outside the world was an incredible adrenaline rush. He had never heard so much cursing in his life in just the past five seconds. It made him think about how little he knew about the world, and he wanted to know as much as he could.

"Man, no job yet…maybe I should work for the Shogun guys at the factory. I don't think I can handle being shut in that dark factory all day though…maybe I should check out that new corporation, Shinra was it?" Vincent said to the walls. He got dressed knowing there was no way he would go back to sleep. He put on his black leather jacket that he bought on instinct and headed outside. Well the 1500 Gil that I got for selling that chocobo to that farm outta last me awhile here. He walked out into the hot early morning air. The two men were still cursing at each other and the road was still clogged. He bypassed the stoppage and walked toward a local bar. It was a small joint that was on the corner a block away from his tenement. He stepped in and sat at the bar and ordered a beer. He had been there quite often, waiting for his interviews and to let the disappointment drown out when he didn't get the job. So he befriended the barkeep.

"You know Vincent, you can get a job over wid Shogun," said the barkeep. He had a dirty sweat shirt on with brown stains on its white texture. He was a middle aged man, short, stocky, and bald. He was cleaning a dirty mug while smoking a cigarette.

"Yeah I know, Moe. But I wouldn't last a day in that hell hole," said Vincent in a low tone. "Maybe I can get a job with that new company, Shinra."

"I guess, yeah I head about dem, they are in tough competition with Shogun from what I hear in da streets, kind of like a corporate war going on wid dem."

"Really, huh…I don't know, how about a Scotch and Soda though."

"Damn boy, you sure you can handle that…"

"Yes I can, just give it up...Shinra, war or not I need a job. Thanks Moe, damn that's strong."

"I told you it was too strong, you a damn light weight. Stick wid the beer. Yeah Vincent, you gotta get a job. Around ere ders two types of guys, bums and bums wid jobs. If I was you, I'd just go to dat farm you talked about."

"No, I can't stay there; I gotta live my life out. Plus they couldn't afford me there anymore. All the boys who reach seventeen leave anyway, sometime or another. They all come here too, to live the city life. I just didn't expect it to be like this."

"What da hell did you expect it to be?"

"I don't know, glamorous, exciting, and fun."

"Dis is glamorous…" Moe said as he pointed down the bar. There was a drunk asleep at one stool, and another bunch of drunks staring into the blank nursing their beers like someone was trying to steal it from them.

"Yeah…a sure, glamorous. Yeah that's funny. Alright Moe, I'll see you later, I'm gonna hit up that Shinra place."

"Arwright see ya later Vincent." Vincent stumbled out as the Scotch and Soda went to his head. Man I had some fermented beer back at the farm, but this is way too strong. It goes straight to my head. He walked out of the bar and looked around. Two drunks were sitting at the curb and were glaring at him. Another was asleep at a bench across the street. He saw smog coming out of the model Ts and the lights of the neon signs reflecting from the pools of water gathering by the curb. 'The big city,' thought Vincent. Nothing like what I thought. Well, I better get that job or else I'll be stuck here forever. He starting walking down the street toward the employment office that he had spent the better part of his week inside.

It was dingy and dark. Surprising enough, it was open 24 hours a day as a government precedent to try and lower unemployment. Vincent had been here several times, and each time it was a new jerk at the desk. He saw a balding middle age man reading a newspaper under a dim lamp. The fan moved slowly and provided little help to cool the air. The man glanced up and quickly glanced down again, ignoring Vincent. Vincent walked inside and stood in front of the man with a serious look on his face.

"You want something," asked the man without looking up.

"I want contact info on Shinra Corporation."

"It will cost you 200 Gil."

"What! It only cost me 100 last time!"

"Demand suddenly skyrocketed…if you don't like it, you can piss off."

"Fine, here you go," Vincent threw the money down while muttering curses. The man secretly pocketed 100 and put the other 100 in the old rusted cash register. He then went into the back room to look for the info. Vincent saw that he ripped him off, but he needed that info. Slowly his puerile naïve-ness he got used to at the farm started to grow up into an old realistic perspective. 'That is just how life is in the city, I guess you do what you have to to survive,' Vincent thought. It took him awhile to realize that aspect of the city. He didn't want to; he missed the purity of the farm. But he told himself that this is the real world, and it just wasn't possible to go back. Besides the city excited him, it let the adrenaline flow through his body where the farm just provided him the same boring routine.

The man returned with a folded up piece of newspaper. 'God damnit! I could've just found it in the paper! Damn, how could I be so stupid!' thought Vincent irritably. The man sat back down and threw the piece of paper on the table and then went back to his paper. Vincent angrily took the paper; very much aware he had been ripped off twice by the same man.

"Thanks a lot pal," Vincent said in a very deadpan voice. The man gave no reaction and continued to read as if nothing happened. 'Screw this, I'm outta here,' thought Vincent harshly. Let's see here, 2012 Corporate Square, that's not far from Shogun headquarters. It's only a couple of blocks away from here. Alright, let's go then. He started walking down the street. He passed the occasional drunk and bum, paying them no attention and always looking forward toward his destination. That is the best way to travel on the streets without getting confrontation from the locals Vincent learned. Eventually the early signs of dawn started and the streets began to fill with shop keeps, customers, and business men. Cabbies woke up from sleeping in their vehicles and shops and were sorting their stock for the day. Vincent bobbed and weaved through the crowd and headed toward the Corporate Square block entrance. He started noticing the steadily increase in the standard of living, cleanliness, and suits walking around. I guess this is where the high class lives…this is where I wanna be. Looks like Shinra could be my ticket to it. He then saw the sign he was looking for, it was big red letters on black granite. Shinra Corporation, a company of the future.

Vincent's stride increase steadily and he was heading toward the entrance. Just as he was about to enter the front door, someone grasped his shoulder and threw him back heavily. He tottered and almost fell. He angrily turned around yelling, "What the hell is your problem you jerk!"

"You have business here?" asked a powerhouse in a suit. He wore black sunglasses that revealed nothing but a blank stare of intimidation. He towered over Vincent and looked at him with a stone cold manner.

"Yeah, I'm here for a job."

"You have an appointment?"

"No."

"You have to have an appointment to enter."

"Where do I make an appointment?" asked Vincent becoming steadily impatient.

"At the front desk."

"Alright, thanks," Vincent said as he made his way to the front door again, but then again the man stood in his way. "Hey, move you..."

"You don't have an appointment."

"Yeah I'm gonna make one at the front desk."

"You don't enter without an appointment."

"Then how the hell am I suppose to enter you jack ass!"

"Please sir, if you would please exit the premise."

"No, I won't! Not till I make an appointment!"

The man picked up a radio from his belt and said softly into the receiver, "We have a code 6 here at entrance 1." Suddenly two other equally large men came out of the door almost instantly.

"I'm going to have to insist you leave the premise sir."

"Fine, I'm outta here," Vincent said with a sneer. Why can't I get a break! What the hell was that ogre's problem? Damn, what crap luck I got. What pricks, just see I'll show them one day. You'll be working for me one day asshole! As he was leaving under the three men's stare he saw them open the door for a man in a trim suit. Vincent looked down at himself and realized what he looked like, a bum without a job. I guess I have to be a bum with a job so I can look like that. Man, if only I can get in the front door I know I can get a job here. But that's what I have been doing for the past freaking week! Vincent was seething as he headed towards Moe's bar, kicking garbage in his way angrily. Damn, this crap luck has to end soon.


	3. Shogun

Ch. 3 Shogun

Moe's bar still had its original occupants, the bums without jobs, and Vincent sat down feeling just like them. 'Hopefully for the last time though,' he thought as he waited for Moe to see him. He was washing a dirty mug and talking to a man in a suit that Vincent hadn't noticed before. Moe looked very intent as he subconsciously scrubbed the same spot on the mug over and over again. Finally the man stood up, put an envelope on the table and left out just as quietly as his presence was in the bar. Vincent glanced at him as he walked by and saw that his features were sharp and did not look like a bum without a job. In fact, he looked very wealthy, just like the type that was allowed to enter Shinra's building.

Vincent then glanced forward again as he noticed that Moe was approaching him.

"How did it go?"

"Lousy, wouldn't even let me in the front door."

"I ain't surprised, you's looks like a bum, only high class pricks get at work der."

"Well Moe, that's my solution, all I got to do is have a suit like that guy who just left and they automatically assume that I am a high class prick as you put it. Who was that guy anyway, and what's in that envelope that he gave you?"

Suddenly a dark shadow crossed Moe's face that Vincent had never seen before. He looked sternly in Vincent's eyes and said harshly, "He was nobody and he gave me nothing." Vincent just sat there, confused and stunned by the sudden change in his friend's appearance and tone. He had obviously asked a question he wasn't suppose to ask. Vincent looked down and stared at the bar for a second or two, nervously darting his eyes around not knowing what to do. Moe saw this and lightened up a little.

"He's a friend of a friend," Moe said plainly.

"Okay."

"So anyway, how ya gonna get dis suit, you couldn't get a job for a week, I'm telling ya, just go work at da factory."

"For the last time Moe, I wouldn't last two minutes in that hell hole."

"Listen kid, you's already in a hell hole, but at least in that hell hole you's be getting paid. You ain't gotta make a career outta it. Just go till you's got your money for da suit." Vincent absorbed this revelation slowly. Who am I trying to kid, I haven't got any experience in anything but farming, and no one will take me except Shogun. I have no choice.

"Yeah your right Moe, I guess I'll give it a shot."

"Smart choice kid."

The next day Vincent reported to work at 4:00 AM. He shuffled into the work room with 200 other men. He felt clogged in like an ant. Everyone shuffled in with the same grim look on their face, and they all did the same half hearted insert of their time card into the check in box. The horn sounded loudly like a fore bringer of doom, and everyone responded by shuffling instinctively to the large factory floor. The supervisor was dressed in a clean long sleeve shirt with a tie. He stood up at the top floor, like a king at his podium.

"Start the line!" he shouted from a loud speaker and a heavy sound came from all directions. Huge nuts and bolts started to rattle as this gray snake came to life. A never ceasing humming droned in the background that cut out all the background sounds and deafened Vincent. The men were sweaty and dirty as the machines began to disperse heat into the room. Smog was coming out of almost every crevice of the mechanical beast.

Vincent started coughing and sweating. So did several other new guys. Vincent had reported to training with them yesterday. All of them were put into a white classroom with motivational posters like "Work professionally, get professional results" and they signed a contract that was a mile long. Vincent didn't understand anything of it and he didn't care to ask, all he cared that he was finally getting paid. And if the classroom looked clean, maybe the factory floor might be as well. But his whole reality was shifted into perspective when he saw the entrance of the dingy, dilapidated building.

The night was dark and cold, Vincent walked up with a row of other misfits toward the lot. A security guard with a Shogun Corporate logo on his shoulder patch was asleep at his post. His stand had the only light in the whole lot. The lights from the city showed the outline of the building. It was massive and cold. As he walked up toward the entrance, following everyone else because he didn't know where to go, he began to see the Shogun logo, "The Company for Today." It was dirt worn and barely showed through its white back drop.

Then the doors were opened at the sound of a siren. The night shift occupants slowly walked out. Their details were obscured by the darkness but they had a tired aura. They were all slumped down and dragging their feet in a collective tired wave trying to go away from the building. Vincent imagined himself doing this at the end of his shift. He walked in and a sudden rush of hot air was a sudden relief from the cold morning air but then quickly became a heavy burden. He shuffled with the rest toward the factory floor. He passed the break room which was a dingy table and several seats surrounding it. The walls were bare except for a clock and a guard with the same company logo on his shoulder that the security guard had. But he was armed. I wonder why, Vincent thought.

Then he proceeded to slide his card, which he received with his orientation package, to check in and then walked into the factory floor. It was as dirty as the building. A rat scurried past his feet and he smelled a heavy sulfur fume coming from the vents. He stared coughing. Then the roar started and he was bumped by a guard and he pointed with his shotgun at his station. Now I know why they are armed, to stop riots. He walked over toward the conveyer belt. Since he was young and strong, he was grouped together with the other young men who were assigned heavy labor. He was supposed to lift the heavy hoods of the cars from one conveyer belt to the other. They couldn't fit on the small curve section of the conveyer belt and it was cheaper to hire cheap labor then construct a new belt connecting the two. Vincent didn't think much of the task until he lifted one up. It weighed a ton and took several people to lift it. His shoulders and arms were already hurting more then he could remember in the first half hour. And that is how the next 12 hours passed. Halfway through he was allowed a ten minute break to eat his lunch until the guard told everyone to leave with his shotgun pointed at the exit. They all had different break shifts because the break room was so small and that was determined by position and seniority. Obviously all the supervisors had the longest break and had access to the executive break room. Guards the next longest and they had their own break room, and then the laborers. The working would start again as endless hoods and other extremely greasy and heavy objects came through the conveyer belt.

Finally, the work horn sounded signaling the end of his shift. Vincent was covered in sweat and grease as he left. He was exhausted and drained to the point of passing out. All he wanted to do was fall asleep. He walked out side; the air was bone chilling cold as gusts of wind froze his body that was under extreme heat all day. He dragged his feet as his shoulders slumped tiredly. He remembered this morning and let out a mental whimper as he thought about tomorrow.

Things would continue like this everyday of the week for a month. Vincent would go to work, then come back to his apartment and pass out. Then wake up barely rested and repeat the process. He made just enough to survive and that is what it felt like, just surviving. And nobody wants to just survive.

One morning, Vincent woke up in a coat of cold sweat. He looked at the time and saw that it was 2 in the morning. If I go back to sleep I can still get a decent 2 hours in. But Vincent kept turning in his sleep. The cold was penetrating his skin and hitting his nerves like a dagger. All night in the cold, and all day in the sweltering heat of that hellhole. Those extremes were beginning to wear Vincent down to a nub. Finally Vincent gave up trying to sleep after an hour of tossing and turning. Going to sleep would only make him feel a thousand times worse when he woke up. So he put on his dirty overalls that haven't been cleaned in a week or so. The stench of oil and dirt were a usual thing that he didn't even notice it anymore, in fact it blended him in more with the crowd more so then it isolated him. He looked out at the same drab, black sky he woke up to every morning. The streets were dimly lit by street lights and empty except for the darkness. He then went to the same place when he felt down in the dumps, Moe's.

He stumbled out tiredly and his eyes were barely open. His thin slits saw the same things that he saw for the past miserable weeks. He stepped outside and felt the cold air sting his skin. He walked steadily, not thinking, toward the bar. But something was different; there was a vacuum there that was usually filled with the clatter of urban noises. Usually there were plenty of homeless planted on the curb, solicitors, and vagrants populating the streets. But for the first time since Vincent was in Old Midgar, there was silence and emptiness. He walked, eerily calmed by this lack of noise and people, toward Moe's and saw that it was opened. He poked his head in to see if Moe was actually open or just closing shop. The lights of the bar were on but no one was inside. This worried Vincent some because he had never seen Moe leave his bar unattended before. The bar was empty except for an empty shot glass. He walked deeper into the bar. Everything was silent except for a muffled sound coming behind a door in the back corner. Funny, I don't remember a door being there. Then he heard foot steps coming out the door. Instinctively he hid behind the bar out of sight. I don't know what's going on, but I don't wanna get caught in the middle of something.

Vincent peered through a small creek in the wooden bar, it was small enough to see the bottom half of the bar. He saw two men walking. He recognized Moe's voice, but never heard the other man's.

"Don't worry, I'll clean up things here, next time, at least call ahead of time. This was done very sloppy and I'm sure da king ain't gonna be happy," Moe said.

The other man said nothing. He just stood there for a moment and then walked out silently. The other man and Moe's shoes were covered in blood.


	4. Street Encounter

Ch. 4 Street Encounter

Vincent was paralyzed. He had never seen that much blood before, never human blood that is. On the farm he saw the blood of many an animal, but this was different. The blood had a heavy odor to it, a distinct tone. It was slippery and rough at the same time. He stared at the foot prints that were made from the bloody shoe. He heard the door close and saw a dirty mop streak across the floor in front of him. It seemed like time stopped as he heard the streaking of the mop across the red stained floor. The constant forward and backward motion memorized Vincent as the same thought went through his head, that's human blood. That's human blood.

Finally Moe went in the back with his bloody mop. Vincent ran as fast as he could out the door and out into the street. He didn't even notice the cold air. He just kept running. The same image was his raging in his head, bloody footsteps. All he could think about was Moe's bloody shoes.

Vincent kept running, bumping into the homeless and ignoring their curses. He ran so hard and fast, soon he was out of breath and had to stop. His eyes watered and his sides burned. He collapsed by a wall and sat down. He sat there for a long time not knowing what to do. Finally his arm started moving and he subconsciously opened a pack of Shogun cigarettes that he started smoking on break. He tried to steady his hands to no avail and lit the trembling cigarette in his mouth. He took a long drag and calmed down a little bit. He sat there in a daze as the cloud of smoke lingered around him.

The bloody footprints ripped into his mind again and he shut his eyes tightly, putting his head in his arms as if trying to suffocate the thought. He did this for awhile, tightly squeezing his head, using all his concentration on trying to block the memory out. He then realized there was someone standing over him. He opened his eyes and realized that he was wrong, there were several people standing around him, actually surrounding him against the wall in a semi-circle.

There were four men, each big and in the same white buttoned down shirt. Some had it buttoned, some had it open, and the man standing directly in front of Vincent had a red tie on. Vincent slowly stood up and matched their gazes. When he stood fully erect, the man with the tie shoved him down to the ground again. The men around him smirked and softly laughed.

"Nice jacket kid, how about I try it on for size," said the man with the tie in a menacing tone. Vincent had known what the men were thinking. A scrawny kid sitting alone against a wall with his head down, easy target. What they didn't know was that Vincent was tough as the concrete that Vincent was sitting on. The weeks of hard labor had toned and strengthened his already fit body. And Vincent did not exactly have a peaceful childhood. He learned to hold his own against bullies in the orphanage he was at before he ran away and found the farm that was his home.

He was the runt in the orphanage, a place where the weak were prey for the strong, and for awhile Vincent was weak. But eventually after all the beatings and fights, he started paying attention, something that would always help Vincent out in his life of no mentors. You learn from others indirectly just by watching them. Soon Vincent started to know the signs of muscles and facial expressions when a right hook was going to be thrown and that the best thing to do was dodge left and grab his forearm, wrapping it abound his back and pinning him to the ground as you shove your other elbow to the base of his neck.

Soon Vincent wasn't the weak one anymore, but the kid who no body messed with because he would either pass out from exhaustion or break your jaw. Vincent's fighting days were over when he ran away from the orphanage, at the age of 12. After a thunderstorm sparked a newly made electrical socket that was poorly made and burned down the entire building. Having nowhere to go, he just ran, until he found the farm and began his new life.

His new life also honed his skills of toughness as he wrestled farm animals and broke wild chocbos to his will. A strict regiment of farm work toned him to the fit, tough man he was now. Despite his slim figure, Vincent was not a man to be messed with, and these four men were about to learn that, just like that pudgy red head learned at the orphanage when Vincent broke his jaw. The man in the tie did not even see it coming. Vincent already had a huge amount of adrenaline pumping through his body. The traumatic shock of witnessing human blood on his friend's shoes made everything after that point in time seem like a dream. Vincent felt like he was outside his body as he just responded to the situation. It was as if he was watching a movie of some guy in a tough spot, not him. So as he gave a quick knee to the groin of the man in front of him in a swift motion, Vincent wore a blank expression. The man in the tie curled up in pain and fell toward Vincent. Vincent stood erect swiftly and grabbed his exposed back and started swaying his body with surprising strength to the tightly packed men. One of them lost balance and slipped, hitting his head on the concrete which caused a spray of blood to release from the open wound.

That left two stunned men. One charged blindly with a right hook heading for Vincent's jaw. He evaded it instinctively like the days at the dirty playground, right by the rusty monkey bars that other kids would sit on to watch the frequent fights. He grabbed his forearm and twisted it around his back. The other man ran around Vincent and grabbed him from behind. This caught him off balance and all three men in their tight embrace fell over their sides. Vincent's grip did not falter. He wrested his grip into a choke hold with the man in front of him and kicked free of the man behind him.

The man in Vincent's grasp was gasping for air and Vincent let go of him to turn his attention to the gangster behind. He produced brass knuckles and swung blindly towards Vincent. Vincent swiftly dodged left and right until the man tried an upper cut and Vincent bum rushed him to the ground. Caught off guard, the man laid stunned as he hit his head on the concrete. Vincent sat on top of him and pinned his brass knuckled hand with one of his arms, and with the other grabbed the top his scalp and started to slam his head into the concrete until he was unconscious.

He stood up, out of breath and dizzy. The adrenaline was flowing through out his body and made his hands tingle. The man gasping for air started to run away, and Vincent let him. He collected himself and stared down at the men he had conquered. Now Vincent realized that the movie that he thought he was watching was reality, and the character in it was himself. Three bodies surrounded him, one in a pool of his own blood. More blood, just like on the shoes. The now familiar odor was heavy in the air and its rough texture stared back at Vincent. He simply stared back at the pool wide eyed, not believing any of this was happening. 'This isn't real, this is a dream,' Vincent kept thinking slowly as he breathed heavily. Finally, reason was taking over, denying him the pleasure of denial and he started to panic. What if the police come, what if Moe saw me! Anxiety began welling up in his stomach making him sick. His legs started to move under him on their own and the next thing Vincent was running full speed down the street. He remembered that he ran without thinking just like when the orphanage burned down, that the same nervous anxiety came with the thought of what now? He was feeling the same thing here. The last thing Vincent remembered before he was running for his life down the street was that the man had a tattoo of a black knight chess piece on his neck. Amidst the thousand panicked thoughts racing through his mind, one was wondering what the hell that stood for, and what the hell did he stumble into?


	5. It Was Raining That Night Too

Ch. 5 It was raining that night also…

The air rushed into his lungs as he sprinted down the street. Everything was a blur; objects lost their form and became muddled as they rushed past him. Rain started to pour, the icy spikes chilling his skin. Thunder pounded in the background and a flash brightened the dark scene. Vincent's thoughts were immediately reminded of that night; it was raining that night also…

Vincent was six when he became a war orphan, drifting as a youth from one ruin of war to the next. Ruins and shambles for homes, and scraps for food. Desperate times, but they were locked away in the depths of his mind that he repressed and never looked back. When the war was over, the winners had to take over the spoils of war. War orphans were a nasty reminder of the harsh realities of the war that occurred, and it was an occasion that the country as a whole wanted to forget. So a government project was derived to move all these reminders of the war to a corner of the country where they would not be noticed. Vincent was one of these reminders at the age of six. Hundreds of orphans, prisoners, and criminals were shipped to the harsh country, an area that was desolate and bitterly cold.

The prisoners and criminals were shipped deeper into the country, and the orphans' journey stopped short at just the border. But that did not stop them from seeing the brutality of man when they accompanied these men and their captors on their journey. Impressionable children witnessed executions, beatings, and the savagery of men on a forced march through the harsh country. Young minds were warped with the realities of a cruel world, where the strong survived and the weak were prey to these survivors. These ideals would continue in the orphanage which now had the feel of a prison camp due to these impressions.

There were several riots, especially in the orphanage of the older teens, and correctional officers from the prisons had to be dispatched to restore order. This was done swiftly and brutally, where supposed ring leaders where executed, and others beaten severely. These stories would be told to the younger orphans by their guards as a warning. Get them to fear you young, and then they are easier to manage was the philosophy of the guards. Vincent heard this news when he was twelve. He was in the second oldest group, twelve to fifteen. Here the guards were the harshest because they wanted to curb the orphans' behavior before they entered the oldest group where there were more riots then the prison camps.

The camp they were in was run like a prison, it had to be. These teenagers grew up with violence their whole lives, and now with their hormones kicking in, they were rebelliously lashing out on a system they were forced to live in and that they blamed for their miseries in life. Vincent had already survived the younger camps with frequent encounters with playground bullies, and many bodily injuries that he sustained from many beatings. But Vincent toughened up to survive; he would not lie down and die so he got up and fought.

Now at the twelve to fifteen camp, he stood up tall and glared at the other boys without fear. He had learned how to fight and how to intimidate. But now there weren't bullies, but guards who were twice his age, and twice as big. Guards saw the pride in his step, the glare in his eyes and their instincts saw that he was fearless; some fear had to be instilled in him.

"What you got to be proud about kid?" said a burly guard as Vincent was being in processed on his twelfth birthday along with four other children his age. Vincent just looked at him and then he felt the quick pain as a hand smacked across his face.

"Pride won't do you any good here, you understand that you stupid sons of bi…" Don't think about that time, Vincent thought as his face remembered the pain. He blocked out the thought like so many others and focused on one goal as he had learned how to do. That goal was to get home and shut himself out from the world until he could make sense of the world again. Vincent did not want to remember that world; he had experienced the purity of the world with the farm. He did not want to go back to survival instincts. He wanted to stay in his state of naive ness and innocence. But deep down, he knew that innocence was dying every second that he was in the city, and the scary thought was that he was becoming accustomed to the thought. In fact, he was starting to welcome it.

Vincent slammed through his door and just as fast as he opened it, he slammed it closed and locked it. He hastily shoved a chair under the knob and shut all his windows. The small enclosure immediately became hot, but he didn't notice. He made sure everything was secure and he slumped on his bed. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off as he was safe in his place. He didn't notice anyone following him, and no one knew that he lived here, he mostly kept to himself. Only person who knew he existed was Moe. He sat at the edge of his bed, trying to keep his head clear of thoughts with great effort. He sweated through his clothes as if he was on the factory floor at Shogun, I guess I am fired from there, but they wouldn't realize I am gone either. I'm just one of a hundred faceless slaves to them. What the hell am I going to do? That thought lingered awhile and a wave of exhaustion hit him as if his body remembered the stress it went through. And his mind agreed as Vincent lay down and slept almost immediately.


	6. Job Interview

Chapter Six Job Interview

The sun was bright, the day breezy and light. The curtains blew slightly as a steady hum of bugs echoed lightly from outside it. Other then that there was just the sound of the gentle breeze that gently pulled Vincent out of his lull. Another fine day on the farm, thought the young spirited youth. A lazy afternoon nap had just ended and now the evening work to get the duties for tomorrow ready. Also there was dinner to help prepare with the old man. The same things that happened everyday. Peaceful, but boring.

Vincent liked the peacefulness though; it was a new concept to a boy raised by warfare. So much he had a hard time adjusting when he first saw the farm and was accepted by the old man. He just was not used to people treating him nice for no apparent reason, he had always had to earn what he thought was nice treatment by intimidating and force. So at first he was very quiet and secluded. He didn't trust anyone. But eventually he realized that there were nice people in the world.

He just laid out on his bed stretching his back. Five more minutes, I just want to listen to the wind blow and the earth sing its lullaby to me. He sat there in a great calm, nothing to worry about. He didn't have to look over his shoulder, put on a hard face, or worry about his reputation. All he had to do was work hard and enjoy the peace. He hoped that he could live like this forever, but at the same time he wanted to leave. It was a concept that Vincent could never understand. He would look out the window and love the peace and quiet, but he always wondered what was beyond the farm and yearned for the sounds of the city. He would soon get his wish and say goodbye to the peace.

KNOCK! "Open the fucking door!"

Vincent shot up in his bed, sweat drenching down his back. He woke up from a dream that he was back at the farm. It took him a second to realize that he was back at his dank tenement hiding from the world and that he was found out. He quietly got up and propped a chair underneath the door handle hoping it would keep whoever was there from barging in.

"Whoever's in there open this damn door before we break it! We know you're in there, and we know what you did, so open it if you know what's good for you!"

There was a couple more knocks and then it went quiet. Vincent sat there not knowing what to do. After a minute or two he crept up to the door and looked at the peep hole. He couldn't see anyone out in the hall. He exhaled and dropped his chair back from the handle and laid his head against the door. Hopefully there are gone…BAM! The door rams Vincent's head splitting a gash in his forehead and hurling him back as the door breaks open. Vincent's vision blurs as a hammer of pain wrecks his nerves and paralyzes his thoughts. He looks up and sees several figures, one of them holding an axe, the rest holding guns.

"Thought your ass can get away huh?"

Vincent recognized him as the man with the tie that tried to steal his jacket. All of them were bruised and bandaged. There were four guns pointed at him and Vincent knew he was dead. His adrenaline was pumping but he was disoriented and knew he couldn't dodge bullets. He put his hand over his head to try and stem the blood flow.

"Is this the guy?" asked the man with the tie.

"Yeah dats him, get your guys out of here and tell the queen that it is him and to come here," said familiar voice. Vincent looked up and saw Moe. He stood there in a suit, which he has never seen him in. He wore the same bright red tie that the man next to him wore. The four guns lowered in unison and they all exited. The man in the tie set his axe down and sat down to light a cigarette. Moe just stared down at Vincent.

Vincent scrambled up, propping himself to his bed and was still in a defensive position. Things were moving to fast for him to comprehend; he was moving on pure instinct now. He just sat there and looked at Moe for what seemed like forever. Finally Moe threw a rag at him silently. Vincent just stared at it for a second and applied pressure on his wound. Finally he was able to think, they are here to find out what I saw. And that axe is going to be the interrogator. If only I get out of this room, but the window is shut and I can't get past both of them.

But before he could think of a plan, another man walked into the room. He was tall and slender. He was also in a suit, with the same red tie. Except on his lapel was a chess piece, it was a small queen. He turned around to close the door and Vincent realized the beginnings of a tattoo on his neck. It was the top of a queen chess piece. This man with a blond military crew cut motioned the man with the axe away. He stood up and took his axe with him silently. After the door was shut, it was the man, Vincent and Moe alone in the room.

Vincent then saw Moe's lapel, it had a bishop piece. What the hell is this?

"So I heard you might have seen some things today, and you might have run into some people today," said the man.

Vincent sat there silently.

"Moe tells me he knows you as well, is that true?"

Vincent simply nodded.

"Well, you took out a group, of what four guys by yourself? I would saw that is pretty good, wouldn't you Moe?"

"I would say dat is great."

"Well are you sure it was him."

"Dats what da knight said."

"And you're sure this is the right thing to do?"

"We need guys like him wid what's comin up."

"I suppose your right, he still has to prove himself, and the king is going to want to have a word."

"Yeah I know dat."

"Okay if you say so, I'll be seeing you around then Vincent." And with that he turned around and walked out of the room. Moe opened the door for him and motioned Vincent to follow.

"What are we doing?"

"We are going to your job interview."


	7. Following Moe

The dim light swayed slowly across the steel table. A glass of water and an ashtray were placed in front of Vincent. There were bare gray walls surrounding him on all sides except one. In front of him were a steel door and a mirror that looked back at him. There was a small security camera to his right looking down at him from the ceiling. He sat there, trying not to move as if he would trigger some sort of bomb. He had no idea what he was getting into; in fact he had trouble concentrating. So much had happened in the past couple of hours it was hard to fathom it all as reality.

After he left his apartment with Moe, it seemed he was in a surreal dream. He walked down in the puddles of water and saw the gray sky. But he couldn't even think what was going on. He just followed Moe wherever he went. Moe walked slowly through the crowds of people milling around doing their jobs. He never looked back. Vincent could have run away any time he wanted, blended into the crowd and returned to his old life. But he figured they could find him and it was as if that old life did not exist anymore. And the thought of that actually was pleasing to Vincent. So he continued to follow in tow.

They went through many alleys and streets. Moe instinctively went down back ways and down streets, never once stopping. Vincent kept up with him and found himself in the slums of an old neighborhood. Old rusted through fences guarded condemned buildings covered with graffiti. The sky seemed grayer in this part of town as the crowds thinned out and the varieties of people were left to the old and destitute. More and more homeless men seemed to litter every corner and dry crevice of this carcass of a town.

They finally came to a large tenement house. But something was different from this building then the other dilapidated foundations that surrounded it. There were men sitting outside the porch, but even though they were dressed in rags, they looked healthy and firm. The building itself seemed to be sound as well, despite being covered with graffiti and wood boards covering the windows like band aids over a wound.

Moe nodded to the men on the porch as they rose and nodded back from a distance. He went down the side way toward the back yard of the tenement. In the back was a bare yard with clumps of dirt and dying grass. There were men sitting down in the back porch as well, and they stood as Moe came by as well. Moe came to a door in the back that led down into the basement. A man opened it for him and said," Good afternoon sir."

At the time none of this seemed odd to Vincent. At that time he was watching someone else go through all this. He couldn't grasp what was going on. He went down into the basement and the garments went from rags to suits. There was a wall with a small window. A man with a green visor sat in a small office with a desk, a lamp, and huge stacks of money. On the wall was a shotgun. He was counting money as he looked up and said, "How you doin boss?"

"Fine, I gotta use room one, is da king here?" Moe said

"Yes. He's waiting in the room."

"Thanks."

Vincent then heard a buzzer and a click as a huge steel door at the end of the hall opened. They walked down as light began to flood the dark hallway. They entered the room, and the interior couldn't have been more different than the exterior world. Where it was dark and gray out side, it was beautiful in this basement room. Polished mahogany floors reflected everything above. The ceilings were covered with lights of all colors that basked the room in a pleasing array of red and blue. To the side was a full bar, equipped with the finest liquors and crystal glasses hanging gracefully on holders above to match. There were leather couches hugging the red walls, and small tables with red roses and dimly lit lanterns at the center.

The giant room was empty except for a small card game going on at the corner of the lounge. An attendant made frequent trips back and forth from the bars filling orders. As Moe entered, everyone stood, nodded, and muttered their salutations. Vincent heard mixtures of boss, sir, and captain as Moe walked by. He walked straight for a quaint door in a corner that was barely noticeable unless you knew it was there.

He opened it and went down a hallway that lead to a kitchen and other facilities. Down at the end were double steel doors that were opened before they got to them. Moe didn't break stride and the doors were opened as if he was expected. It went into a large room that was filled with boxes and crates. A man with a green visor similar to the one up front sat at a desk with massive log books on both sides of him. He looked up and went back to logging information into his books.

Moe went down a corridor filled with crates and boxes. Vincent looked around like a kid at the zoo. All this seemed so unreal. Then they came to the last door that led into the bare room. Moe told Vincent to have a seat and he went into the steel door. It was too dark for Vincent to see what was in the room, and he just sat there when it closed. It was eerily quiet as the only sound was his heartbeat.

It wouldn't be till later that Vincent would ask questions about his tour. Questions such as why did everyone stand for Moe, call him boss, what was going on in the rooms, what were in the crates, why did this place exist, and how Moe could walk down a dangerous slum in a suit and not get hurt? All this would come later because Vincent's thoughts just seemed to not exist at that moment. He couldn't think, he was just living the moment as if he was reading about it.

Then the door in front of him opened, and a man with a gun in his hand walked in.


End file.
